


rare and sweet (as cherry wine)

by dontthinkiwont



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Depressed Lance (Voltron), Drunken Confessions, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, First Kiss, Gay Keith (Voltron), Homesick Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Soft Keith (Voltron), Underage Drinking, they dont rlly confess but like they both know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 13:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontthinkiwont/pseuds/dontthinkiwont
Summary: So Lance was here. Drinking some Altean drink akin to cherry wine in the castle's observatory, looking out into the stars and thinking about distance and home and other things that made him sadder than what should be allowed.





	rare and sweet (as cherry wine)

There were a lot of words Lance would use to describe space.

Quiet, quiet was one of them. For whatever reason, no one really talked about how deafeningly silent space is. It's just miles and miles and miles and miles and  _miles and miles_ of silent solitude. Quiet and vast and empty. That's another thing that space is - it's huge. Wide and unfamiliar and at times genuinely terrifying. Hell, forget at times, all the time. Thinking about where he was and what he was doing filled Lance with the sort of terror that makes you want to  _run_ and not slow down for anything.

Above all, though, in Lance's mind? Space was cold. Its sub-zero temperatures could even be deadly if you didn't treat them with enough caution, which again was frightening when you really thought about it. It was a stupid little nothing that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but Lance couldn't think of a single moment where he'd been well and truly warm since he'd been swept up by Blue and brought to that Altean castle. He'd always had cold hands and feet, something he'd often joked about with his siblings - pressing his hands to Veronica's face, shoving his feet under Luis' thighs on the couch - but his heart being cold? His entire _being,_ feeling nothing but sad and lonely and  _freezing?_ That was a new one.

So he was here. Drinking some Altean drink akin to cherry wine in the castle's observatory, looking out into the stars and thinking about distance and home and other things that made him sadder than what should be allowed. 

He probably shouldn't have let himself get to this point. When he'd found what was probably Coran's secret stash of Altean booze in a hidden pop-out cabinet in the kitchen, his immediate reaction was to take what he could and get out of there as fast as possible. So he scooped up a bottle of nunvil, a flask of something that tasted like piss and lighter fluid, and a large jug of cherry wine and ran like hell - which was stupid seeing as the only other Paladin in the castle at the time was Pidge and god _knows_ she didn't care what Lance was up to. (Which hurt, but he was still about half a bottle of wine away from thinking about that.) He'd tentatively tried the contents of the flask first and immediately tossed it out, the nunvil he'd been able to grow used to and stashed away for later, and he'd grown up sneaking cherry wine from his parents' liquor cabinet so he was delighted to realize what it tasted like. However, because of this he was not only was he slowly getting shitfaced, he was slowly getting shitfaced  _and_ growing more and more sad and homesick.

Great.

The decision to get wasted alone in the observatory had come later, prompted by a particularly nasty argument with Keith, not that those were too rare nowadays. It was the same old shit - Lance wasn't working hard enough, Keith was being stupid and not thinking things through, yadda yadda yadda, same as pretty much always. Somewhere along the lines Lance had said something that had been below the belt - he winced, recalling that it was something about Keith's family, or lack thereof. Stupid, immature, inconsiderate - and Keith had immediately retaliated, out for blood. He yelled about how Lance was lazy, along with how his poor performance would get his teammates killed and how his homesickness was a sign of poor resolve. Neither of them had won, rather they both retreated to lick their wounds in solitude, which was essentially what Lance was doing now. Except instead of feeling guilty and angry at Keith, he was depressed and anxious as shit and freezing because  _dammit_ this always happens when he drinks. It does nothing to make him feel better about the reason he's drinking and instead allows deeper shit he'd been trying to repress to surface. Lovely.

If he was being honest, it wasn't just the open wound left from the argument that he was desperately trying to soothe. It was also the fact that he was probably picking fights for reasons other than Keith's stupid face. And hair and clothes and body - well, okay, his body wasn't stupid, pretty far from it actually. It was  _divine._ Lance shook his head, trying his damnedest to clear his thoughts. That was exactly the point - for whatever reason, he couldn't get the stupid mullet off his mind. Which was probably the dumbest part of this entire shitshow, the fact that he'd caught  _feelings_ \- the word made his teeth feel metallic and his stomach rebel - for a guy who hated him and probably thought that he hated him, too. Which was his fault, really. He'd been jealous of Keith in the Garrison and attracted to him even back then and didn't know how to deal with it, and those impulses were carried with him into space and  _god dammit_ now he was dealing with the consequences of his poor coping mechanisms.

Not only that, he was now drunk, and trying to process his homesickness as well as his anxieties about the war  _and_ his inconvenient, painful crush on his teammate who also just happens to be his self-proclaimed rival. And he was also cold.

Lance settled back further on to the pillows and blanket he'd brought from his room and took another swig from the bottle of wine, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest. Really it had always been there, but that's what alcohol does - it removes the barriers you'd carefully placed around your bullshit feelings and leaves you to deal with the consequences, while you're impaired, no less! It was absolutely unfair. Yet Lance had gotten himself into this, so dammit he was going to handle this like a responsible adult: he was going to finish this bottle of wine and break into the nunvil in his room and get drunk enough to not have to remember how shitty this night had ended up being. That was the  _plan,_ at least, until the very person Lance was trying to forget made his presence known by shuffling his feet behind him and hesitantly sitting down next to him on the blanket. Keith.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and while Lance wouldn't describe it was awkward, they both clearly had too much on their minds. He gave a quiet sigh and passed Keith the bottle, who eyed it dubiously before shrugging and taking a sip, wrinkling his nose once he did.

"This...is kinda gross."

"How fucking dare you," Lance replied instantly, puffing up like a porcupine even though he knew that they were both aware he wasn't being serious. "This, mullet man, is the only quality alcohol that I've been able to find on this ship. You clearly have no taste."

Keith wrinkled his nose again. "You've drank before?"

Lance reached out, ignoring the way Keith blanched and ran the pad of his thumb over where the wrinkles gathered, his knuckles brushing over his cheek gently. 

"You're gonna get wrinkles," he murmured, drawing back after a beat and gesturing for Keith to hand him back the bottle.

He did so, looking away from Lance after he did, turning his gaze to the stars above and around them. Lance did the same. They sat like that for a few minutes, silently passing the bottle of wine back and forth and watching the stars peer back at them. Their position, this, sitting and drinking together was odd, really, but also mesmerizing. Keith had that same affect.

"I feel bad," Lance said after a few minutes, diverting his gaze from the stars and on to the bottle in his hands. His reflection stared back at him, warped and tinted red but clear all the same. He covered it up with his hand. "I shouldn't've...I'm sorry. You deserve better."

When Lance finally looked up at Keith and made eye contact he looked confused, but relieved all the same.

"I was, uh," he cleared his throat. "I was worried you wouldn't wanna talk to me."

It was Lance's turn to be confused, but true to his nature Keith didn't back down.

"I was, um. I was mean to you. You had no right to bring up my family -"

Lance winced again.

"- but I had no right to say those things to you. You're not lazy, and the only reason you're homesick and I'm not is because you have...you have stuff to go home to. I'm sorry."

Keith took the wine back and took a couple sips, and once again Lance wished he was sober and at the top of his game. This was a lot for him to process, period, forget processing it while drunk. So he went back to what he knew best.

"Keith Kogane, apologizing?" he teased, bumping his shoulder with the other and grinning softly as Keith smiled into his lap. "Never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Well, you did. Congratulations."

"Hey, sarcasm. That's a good look on you."

"You think?"

"I think."

Keith looked at Lance through his lashes and his breath caught in his throat for a second or two. It might just be the alcohol or even the astigmatism in his eyes warping his view of the lights, but  _jesus._ A particularly bright star was hitting his eyes just right and reflecting off his hair which had fallen on to his cheeks...

God damn. He had it bad.

Lance pulled away from Keith abruptly, trying to ignore the way that his cheeks and ears were currently burning and forget how they had unconsciously leaned towards each other. He was trying to forget a lot tonight.

"Did...did I do something?" Keith stuttered, sounding mildly heartbroken, but Lance simply pulled his knees up to his chest and looked down and to the left. "Lance." He heard him place the bottle on the ground.

Lance could practically feel the anxiety thrumming under Keith's skin as he reached over, shaky hands placed on either side of his face and pulled gently to the right to face him again. 

"Lance."

"Keith."

"Lance," Keith breathed right before he drew him in, closing the distance halfway and pressing his lips gently to the other's, eyes slipping shut.

Lance reciprocated almost immediately, leaning towards Keith and putting one hand on the ground for support and placing the other on his cheek, allowing it to slip back further and thread its fingers through his hair. It was sloppy and sitting on the floor had grown uncomfortable a good fifteen minutes ago, but Keith's lips were unfairly soft and his gentle movements combined with the taste of cherry wine on both of their mouths made for a first kiss neither of them would soon forget. They parted after a few moments but remained close, holding eye contact as Lance tried to process what happened.

"You're beautiful," he whispered instead, pressing his forehead to Keith's, who chuckled from somewhere deep in his chest in response. "I've wanted to do that since the Garrison."

"Oh. So not just because of the alcohol, then."

"Oh, no, no no," Lance insisted, backing away and taking Keith's hand in his. "Not at all. Never. Not in a million years."

"Good to know," he laughed, squeezing his hand softly.

Lance dropped back down on to the pillows, lying down flat on his back and tugging Keith down with him. He shuffled closer, sighing happily when Keith put his arm around him and took his hand with his free one, squeezing it again and pressing a kiss to Lance's head on his chest. The wine was forgotten to their right, reflecting starlight into Lance's peripheral vision. He made a mental note to not let the alcohol wash away the memory; this exact moment was something he'd treasure forever.

For the first time in a long time, he was warm.

**Author's Note:**

> this was kind of my last love letter to Voltron. ive always been more of an artist for this fandom than an author, but writing this and considering it to be my last piece for the fandom (which it may or may not be i dont fuggin know lmao) made me emotional. thanks vld, kick forever :') anyways, i hoped you liked this, drop a kudos and a comment if you wanna!


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